


the weight of a hand to hold

by seraf



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, Holding Hands, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Incest, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Introspection, M/M, Overthinking, Rain, Recovery, Revelations, Temporarily Unrequited Love, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-28 18:10:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19399600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seraf/pseuds/seraf
Summary: shuichi had reached up without warning and cupped the side of his cheek with an expression like curiousity. when kiyo recoiled, asked what he was doing, he’d laughed a little nervously and looked down and away. ' one of the books you recommended for me - it mentioned that humans need skin-to-skin contact every so often, right? and i just kinda had the thought that you must not’ve had that since we came in here, since you’re always so covered up. '' ah, '  kiyo had responded stiffly, eyes still darkened with intense swirls of emotion as he stared at shuichi’s hand as though he was about to cut it off. hurriedly, the detective tucks it back into his pocket, taking a little half-step away. ' i . . . see. i suppose your logic is understandable. '( shuichi takes his hand, and kiyo wonders how much he's missed. )





	1. Chapter 1

he was never lonely.

he _wasn’t._

how could he be, when the one he loved most was a constant presence inside of him? she was all he needed. she was _all_ he needed. other friendships, relationships, passing acquaintances - they would all only fall flat in comparison to their love.

but the fact of the matter remains - it’s been three hours now, and he can still feel the reminder of a brief touch on his face.

( shuichi had reached up without warning and cupped the side of his cheek with an expression like curiousity. when kiyo recoiled, asked what he was doing, he’d laughed a little nervously and looked down and away. _one of the books you recommended for me - it mentioned that humans need skin-to-skin contact every so often, right? and i just kinda had the thought that you must not’ve had that since we came in here, since you’re always so covered up._

_ah,_ kiyo had responded stiffly, eyes still darkened with intense swirls of emotion as he stared at shuichi’s hand as though he was about to cut it off. hurriedly, the detective tucks it back into his pocket, taking a little half-step away. _i . . . see. i suppose your logic is understandable._

_i’m sorry,_ shuichi had said genuinely, and kiyo could _tell_ he meant it. _i should have asked. i won’t do that again._ and he’s so honest. open. he genuinely feels remorse for not asking. but . . . since when was that an issue?

the problem is mostly just that he shares this body with _her,_ and he is _hers_ to touch alone, and shuichi did not ask _her._ if it was just him, he wouldn’t care, but there is a reason now that he covers himself up as much as he does. he should be mad at him for encroaching on _her_ territory. but . . . at most, he finds himself startled, nothing more.

_your intentions were good,_ he said curtly, turning away. _just do not do it again._ )

his own bandaged fingers brush over the place on his cheekbone where his mask ends, under his eyes, but it feels hollow. it’s slightly better when he wraps his arms around himself, hugging himself - pressure inherently is comforting - but not the same.

_korekiyo._ it’s _her_ voice, cold and resonant, in the back of his head. _do not dwell on foolish things such as this._

‘ but perhaps he is right, ‘ he murmurs, fingers tightening against his shoulders. ‘ it _is_ a fundamental human need, is it not? perhaps it is one that i have been neglecting too much. ‘ and suddenly, the hands curling around his arms are no longer his. _her_ nails dig into the skin of his upper arms, clawing at him in her embrace.

_this is all you need,_ she whispers to him, and he nods obediently.

but for once, it just feels as though he’s holding himself. there’s none of the warmth of an embrace, the reassurance of genuine human touch. just his own hands, digging into his bony shoulders. he tries to dismiss the feeling, to close his eyes and let her embrace him, comfort him.

but something in his chest suddenly, deeply, feels _empty._

_you are being foolish, korekiyo,_ she tells him, voice low and dangerous, and he flinches, ever so slightly. he shouldn’t wrong her like this. he opens the door to the bathroom in their room and turns on the cold water, carefully wetting a towel and wiping off the exposed area of his face, hoping to clear his head. ( it was as close as he dared to get to splashing water on his face. he didn’t see the point to wearing his bathing mask for something as trivial as this. )

the cold water doesn’t wash away the ghost of his touch.

it’s _her_ hand that opens one of the drawers under the sink and pulls out the box cutter they had fetched from the warehouse, and he submits to her will, letting her take control of their body entire, withdrawing but for his senses. it was a punishment for _him,_ after all – it wouldn’t make sense if he were removed completely from his nerves. maybe this was for the best, he tried to tell himself. the pain would drive back his doubts.

_will you do it yourself, korekiyo, or must i discipline you again?_

‘ i can, ‘ he replies after a moment’s hesitation, and regains control of his hands, fingers spasming around the metal handle of the knife.

afterwards, he hesitates, hand hovering over the roll of fresh bandages to cover his hands and forearms with, before picking them up and putting them in the drawer they came from, tugging his shirt and jacket both on instead on impulse, wincing at the feeling of fabric scraping over fresh cuts. but – for the first time in awhile, his hands are free of the thick, almost _cloying_ fabric, and he revels in it, tracing his fingertips over the polished wood of the furniture, the soft give of the sheets on his bed, the smooth plane of his own skin.

_korekiyo –_ she begins, tugging their body, trying to turn around, but he digs his heels in.

‘ it is fine, sister, ‘ he says, voice calmer than he truly is. ‘ i’ve suffered worse before, yes? this is a trivial thing. i just want to pursue this hypothesis. you know i would never be unfaithful to you. ‘ he says it like an oath; lays his heart out on his sleeve for her like an offering.

she takes it.

_very well. but do not pursue this flight of fancy of yours for longer than necessary._

he nods, sloughs off his jacket as well, and heads out of his room, goosebumps prickling up over his skin - it’s funny, he thinks. he never noticed how cool the night air got, here.

there’s a single drop of water, rolling down his forehead, and he blinks at it before looking up. the stars are covered, shrouded in darkness.

that’s funny. he doesn’t think it’s rained here, before.

it starts lazily, the drops few and far between, and before he knows it, it’s suddenly a downpour, sticking the fabric of his short-sleeved shirt to his skin and pressing his hair flat to his neck. slowly, he shuts his eyes, tips his head back into it, lets the water clear his face, run in rivulets down the sides of his cheeks. like crying. he can’t remember the last time he cried. she told him not to, and so he had stopped.

_interesting,_ the anthropologist part of him notes, because there’s something almost like yearning splitting his chest open at the feeling of the rain caressing his skin, hands free from the heavy cloth, arms stinging where the rainwater touches them, but not in a bad way. it’s proof he’s here, isn’t it?

‘ kiyo? ‘ someone calls, and he blinks, caught by surprise at the idea of someone else being out here. he still holds his arms out for a few seconds more.

when was the last time he felt a breeze on his skin?

( he thinks he might know the answer, but it’s a very hazy memory - ropes wrapped around him so tightly his lungs couldn’t capture the night air, methodically whipped raw. yes, he’d felt the wind then, as it screamed against his open wounds. like . . . it does now, though these are far less substantial. )

he blinks to see shuichi standing there, holding his jacket up over his head as a sort of makeshift umbrella to keep the rain off of his face. shuichi’s face looks to be contorted into . . . concern, perhaps? kiyo crosses his arms, hiding the lines that stretch across them by hugging them close to his chest. ‘ ah, shuichi. what are you doing here? ‘

‘ i was gonna ask _you_ that,‘ shuichi says, with an awkward little smile. ‘ it’s pouring out, and you look . . . different, than usual. i just wanted to make sure that you were okay. ‘

_reassure him, and urge him to leave as subtly as you can,_ sister whispers into his ear, fingers tracing over his jaw, his throat, his shoulders.

but not where his skin is bare. that’s _his_ alone. it’s an inane thought, but it must bear some credence, yes?

it’s that, for some reason, that fuels his answer to shuichi.

‘ i am . . . not certain if i am. may i come in with you? ‘

_korekiyo. what are you doing? do you really wish to disobey me like this?_

‘ of course, ‘ shuichi says, and he looks puzzled now, as kiyo draws closer. ‘ come on, let’s get inside. it’s pouring out. ‘ a statement of the obvious, yes, but one that was meant well.

‘ so it is, ‘ kiyo murmurs in agreement, his long legs easily able to keep up with shuichi’s half-jog back towards the dormitories. when they got inside, shuichi looked mournfully at his jacket, now soaked through, and folded it over on the banister, hanging it out as though to dry on a clothesline.

there is a strange impulse that leads him now, wild and unfamiliar, and he steps forwards and gently takes shuichi’s hands in his own, feeling the thin fingers, the chewed-short nails, the drying rainwater. the pulse, clear and beating under pale skin. the warmth of human contact.

shuichi had been right. when was the last time he had felt this? truly felt this?

something - something is aching in his chest. something does not feel right.

he decides to focus on the easier things, now - like that shuichi is staring at him quizzically, brows drawn together. though . . . he doesn’t remove his hands. if anything, he just shifts them, slips their fingers together and exerts a . . . comforting pressure. kiyo wonders in a removed part of him why he finds this comforting. it’s so . . . _alien_ to him, now.

sister’s voice tears and rambles through his head, but he can’t help but focus on the feeling of what it’s like to trace the pad of his thumb over shuichi’s nails, and feel the shallow plateaus of chipped nail polish there.

why had he neglected this for so long? had he really gained anything from trying to be an observer and nothing _but_ an observer?

‘ . . . kiyo? ‘ shuichi finally asks, looking up at him. ‘ are you alright? ‘

‘ i don’t know, ‘ kiyo says, and is surprised to recognize the frank honesty in his own voice. ‘ i think . . . i think perhaps i might not be. ‘

shuichi, for a glancing second, looks taken aback, but he quickly overcomes it. ‘ we can go to my room, if you need to talk. ‘ he begins turning in that direction, but only lets go of one of kiyo’s hands.

‘ i would like that. ‘

he keeps his hold on shuichi’s steady hand, and appreciates the detective not pointing out that his own fingers are trembling.


	2. Chapter 2

for the first time, he starts to become aware of how strong the air conditioning is in the dorms. usually he’s wearing his several layers, and not . . . sopping wet. he can’t help but shiver now, his body racked with chills he tries to fight off by clutching his upper arms. _fascinating,_ he thinks, through the cold. there’s so much he’s _feeling_ today. perhaps he should have used himself as a test subject earlier. can he truly study humanity if he isn’t aware of his own human condition?

then again, is he really human anymore? there _were_ many different names for a person posessed by a spirit or prone to being vessels for one. _chwal, inwatso, sanghyang, jitong, hakaze._ though . . . did that truly reduce his humanity?

_of course,_ sister whispers, in a voice that sweeps over him,running a hand down his back - and the cold ofthat makes himalmost jerk spastically as he shivers, unable to shake the chill. _we are one, are we not? you are as much a part of me as i am of you. we are a step past humanity, dancing on the void._

usually, he might find that a comfort. they were the only ones who understood each other - half alive, half dead, as they were. she, skimming the surface of life - when he called upon her spirit, when she used his body to interact with the living, when he gave her blood or life either of hisown or of the friends he sent to her, and he, so often finely waltzing with death. how many times had his pulse stopped? how many times had he come so close to embracing her? how many times had he been _ready_ to pass on?

but for some reason it wasn’t a comfort now.

perhaps anthropology could be considered a softer science, but it _was_ a science nonetheless, and he can’t simply dismiss that from his way of thinking. the fact of the matter is thus; whatever she is and however much control she has over his body, _he_ is still alive, here and now.

he wonders why he hasn’t asked this question yet. it’s a logical fallacy he’s missed; probably because it comes from _her._

‘ sister, ‘ he whispers to himself as they follow shuichi to his room, ‘ i do not see why this is a problem. you were upset that you had no friends in life, right? what if i die with the same regrets? ‘ shuichi shoots him a concerned look over his shoulder, but doesn’t say anything, just unlockinghis door.

_you don’t need anyone else,_ she says, voice like ice. _you have me._ her hands creep up his sides, settle on the sides of his throat, and he can’t tell if it’s a caress or a threat.

but that just raises the next question he had, and he’s not sure if he wants to ask it or not. things are safe, if he leaves things where they are. things are _familiar,_ if he does. but . . . but. he steps into shuichi’s room, eyes glassy and blank, and shuichi gently takes ahold of his wrist before he trips over a pillow left on the floor, careful to avoid the fresh cuts, and that - the warmth, the touch, that does it for him. it needs to be asked.

_then . . . sister, why was i not enough for you? if i do not need friends because i have you . . . why was i never good enough to be your friend? why did you need a hundred friends for me to get for you? why is it selfish for me to want to have people in my life, but only to be expected that you want people in yours?_

she doesn’t answer him.

she doesn’t answer him.

and suddenly, his hands are no longer under his control, and the hands on his neck are much less than phantom. _if you are really so discontent with your life, brother, i would have you join me,_ she murmurs in his ear, phantom lips brushing the shell of it. _you are beginning to think yourself too good for me._

‘ no, sister, i - ‘ is all he’s able to get out, before his hands - her hands - clasp around his own throat and hold down with a force that would make an industrial vice envious. he struggles, trying to get control of his own hands again, but he feels less and less in his own body, just . . . floating there. just _aware_ of his own hands trying to choke him to death.

ah well.

perhaps . . . maybe she is right. maybe he should join her.

his chest screams, and he can feel his pulse becoming irregular underneath his cold, bare fingertips, his throat bobbing against his palms frantically and his vision blurring around the edges. he’s going numb. he’s going numb. his head swims and he crashes forwards, fingers stilllocking hard around his thoat, still pressing down. he’s not sure where his control ends and hers begins, but he’s writhing on the floor of shuichi’s room,legs thrashing out at some unseen attacker.

_stop struggling, dear korekiyo,_ she whispers to him, and he can see her now, sitting on his chest, smiling at him almost angelically with her hands around his throat. she remains bright andpresent, even as the world around her wavers and grows dark and his body twitches out, desperate for oxygen. _this wouldn’t hurt as much if you stopped struggling. just give in, brother. you know i know best for you._

it’s funny. even though it’s his own hands around his throat, it’s almost as though he can feel her sitting on his chest, pinning himto the ground.

and then, and then, and then.

his nails rake across his throat as they’re suddenly torn away from his neck, and his spine arches into an inhuman sort of curve as he gasps for air and lets it flood his system, chest heaving. he thrashes out in a panic, twisting and turning, andhe honestly can’t tell if it’s sister trying to break free or him, but his wrists are pinned down by his head, tearing one of them out of the hands they’re in, before it gets pinned down back to the ground.

his nose is running. the air he’s gasping in aches in his chest, and his cheeks sting, hot and cold all at once.

‘ - _iyo! kiyo!_ ‘

oh, so that’s why. 

it’snot . . . it wasn’t sister sitting on his chest. it’s shuichi, pinning him onto the floor of his room with his knees, one cheek bruised and hands holding down his wrists, hair sticking to hisforehead with . . . maybe it’s sweat or rainwater, hiseyes wide as he frantically tries to get a response out ofkiyo.

slowly, he stops thrashing out. shuichi reaches one hand up slowly and tugs down his mask, and kiyo doesn’t resist it. it’s easier to breathe without it there,andso he does, shutting his eyes and just . . . letting himselfbreathe. it’s a relief.

he slumps.

‘ kiyo, ‘shuichi begins, in a voice like he’s trying to approach a wounded animal, breathing deeply himself, ‘ are you . . . are youalright? ‘

his eyes sting, and there are tears pooling at the edges of them.shuichi can _see_ him. can see the scars covering him, can _see_ sister’s lipstick staining his mouth, whatever of it is left after the struggle. he doesn’t want to open his eyes andsee hisexpression. shuichi is one of the few friends he’s . . . ever had, really. not just here, _ever._ he’s not sure he wants to see his disgust.

but there’s none there. just concern.

‘ kiyo? ‘ shuichi asks again as he opens his eyes.

‘ no, ‘ he says, voice turned raspy from sister’s hands, and lets the back of his head hit the ground, suddenly exhausted. he’s died before,and that felt . . . thrilling, in some degree. this is just . . . he’s exhausted. he’s exhausted. ‘ no, i’m not. i’m not. ‘

why did this take him so longto realize? why hadn’t he realized the holes in this logic before? this isn’t fair. none of this is fair. why shouldshe be able to ask somuch of him?

he’s nothing without her. he’s nothing without her. he’s nothing! he’s nothing! he’s nothing!

he can feel tears running down the sides of his face. sister would call him pathetic. maybe she _is,_ right now, but he can’t hear her. hisbrain is caught too much inthe here and now, inthe air flowing into his lungs and shuichi’s weight on his chest and the coldair biting his skin.

shuichi runs a hand through his hair, looking . . . at a loss for words. ‘ i . . . ‘ he swallows helplessly, before determination kicks into his face. ‘ alright. alright - kiyo, we should . . . get you into something dry, at least. and . . . get someband-aids for those. maybe . . . ‘ he glances down and away. ‘ kaito would probably do better at this, maybe i should - ‘

‘ no, ‘ kiyo rasps out, because kaito doesn’t _like_ him, and he doesn’t feel alright with being weak in front of him. ‘ no, i . . . no. ‘

shuichi hesitates, but nods. ‘ are you going to be okay here for a second? i just need to grab a couple of things. ‘ kiyo, exhausted,just nods, and shuichi stands up slowly, stepping into his bathroom with onelast concerned glance over his shoulder.

it’s funny, kiyo thinks.

he misses thewarmth of his body there.

**Author's Note:**

> probably a two or three parter to be


End file.
